Black Sheep's Daughter (14 page)

 Teresa studied her newly acknowledged aunt. The duchess did not look in the least as if she suffered from nervous debility. Her round face with its rosy cheeks was the picture of health. Recalling Lord John's words, she decided that her Grace, being of unimposing stature, used the threat of imminent collapse as a weapon to uphold her dignity. Her family had learned to ignore it, but that it intimidated strangers she herself could attest.

 Howell returned. The duchess sat up with renewed vigour, swung her legs (limbs, Teresa reminded herself) out of bed and headed for the dressing room. "I shall dress," she announced. "The Little Season is beginning and we shall have a great deal to do to make Miss Danville—Teresa, is it not?—presentable. Is Stafford still in the house?  Send to ask him if he will be so good as to spare me a moment. And while you are about it, send for the modiste, that Frenchwoman who is all the crack, I forget her name, and for Monsieur Henri.”

“Monsieur Henri went back to France, your Grace.”

“Back to France?  We shall have to make do with his assistant then, that nasty little man from Birmingham. That hair must come off. Let me see your teeth, girl. Excellent, and your figure is acceptable under those frills, I believe. Now walk about while I dress so that I may see how you move."

 Teresa walked with carefully mincing steps towards the window, a false smile pinned to her lips in the hope that it was making her look "passably pretty."  For a nostalgic moment she wished she was back on board the
Destiny
, parading before Lady Parr, Muriel and Andrew.

 Her aunt's voice brought her abruptly back to the present. "As I feared, shabby genteel. You look as if you were hobbled like a horse. Let me see how you move naturally."

 Teresa strode towards her and nearly fell flat on her face as the narrow skirt tangled round her ankles. "I am hobbled, aunt," she said, laughing.

 "Far too mannish."  The duchess gazed at her speculatively. "But that laugh is superb. I'll tell you what, Teresa, if you stick with gentlemen who consider themselves amusing, you may yet do me credit. Now walk again, something between the fop and the Corinthian, if you please."

 Teresa set off for the window again. No disparaging comments halting her, she reached it and looked out. On the other side of a wide, paved street, she saw lawns and trees. "Oh, you are quite in the country," she exclaimed. "I thought Stafford House was in the middle of London."

 "That is Hyde Park. The Fashionable World drives or rides or walks there to see and be seen."

 "How delightful!  I quite long to go."

 "You will not leave this house, Teresa, until you have decent clothes on your back!  Now walk this way. You are improving already, I am glad to see."

 At that moment the door opened and Miss Carter came in. An impoverished cousin who acted as the duchess's companion, she looked amazingly like her patroness: small and round with a pink face. She was placid and agreeable. Teresa thought her Grace might share her temperament as well as her looks if it were not for the necessity of preserving her rank.

 "You wanted to see me, Aurelia?" enquired Miss Carter, looking rather like an inquisitive sparrow in her brown silk gown.

 "Yes, Amelia. This is Stafford's niece, Teresa Danville. I am to bring her out and I shall need your assistance."

 Teresa curtsied, a nicely calculated bob suitable for an older female of unquestioned gentility but no status. Then she wondered whether Lady Parr's carefully graded curtsies were as shabby genteel as some of her other notions were turning out to be. It was a relief not to have to walk as if her ankles were tied together, and a still greater relief not to have to avoid laughing. However, it was best, she decided, to comply with her ladyship's advice until she was told otherwise. It was certainly more appropriate than her natural, unaffected manners.

 Before the duchess could reveal Miss Carter's role in the transformation, there was another knock and the duke put his head round the door.

 "Come in, Stafford, do," invited his wife. "I gather you mean Teresa to have a Season, and I must know what you mean to do for her."

 "Buy the gal whatever she needs, Aurelia. You will know best."

 Teresa flushed with embarrassment. "My father said I am to use whatever money is in his account, sir," she said. "He expected it to be enough for both Marco and me."

 "Fustian, missy!  If a man cannot buy a few dresses for a pretty niece, what can he spend his blunt on?  Use Edward's account for your pin-money, by all means. I'm off to White's, Aurelia. I look to see Edward's girl dressed to the nines, mind."

* * * *

 The "nasty little man from Birmingham" arrived shortly thereafter, delighted to be called to the ducal mansion. He was actually tall and lanky, and when he told Teresa that her hair was beautiful, she could not think him nasty. He did have the most peculiar accent, a combination of Midlands English with a patina of French acquired from his mentor, Monsieur Henri.

 Teresa was seated before her Grace's dressing table and the coiffeur unpinned her hair, which Annie had braided and wound into a knot on top of her head. His nimble fingers unplaited it and brushed the dusky cloud. "Merveller," he said in his approximation of French, "and it'll take a curl, I'll be bound, once it's cut. Miss can use the height, though, so I won't take off too much. Just enough so's it's easy to put up and don't overweigh the face. Miss's face is tray delicah."

 "Speak English, man!" snapped the duchess.

 "Delicate features, your Grace. Don't want to hide 'em under a bushel, do we?"  He started snipping away.

 Teresa sat with her eyes shut. Her head grew lighter and lighter and the scissors clicked on. He had said he would not take off too much, she told herself.

 "Vwahlah," said the hairdresser at last. "I mean, there we are. Now let's see what we can do with it."

 Teresa opened her eyes and was relieved to see that there was still plenty left. "Should not my abigail be here?" she asked. "She will need to know how to dress it."

 "Howell, send for Miss Teresa's abigail," the duchess ordered.

 A few minutes later Annie trotted in. Howell had seen her in the servants' hall and told the duchess, but Miss Carter was taken by surprise. "Ooh," she squealed, "an African!"

 "Do try not to be such a ninnyhammer, Amelia," scolded her cousin. "Remember Teresa comes from the Americas, where everyone has black servants."

 Teresa did not think it was the moment to explain that there were practically no blacks in Costa Rica and that she had rescued Annie from a sinking slave ship. She had a lowering feeling that the duchess would not approve of that particular exploit.

 By the time the man from Birmingham had demonstrated several possible styles, her head was aching and she almost wished he had cut all her hair off. He departed, promising to return in person to dress it before her first ball. She was too exhausted to feel the slightest spark of enthusiasm at the prospect of that great event.

 Miss Carter took one look at her drawn face and said, "Aurelia, Miss Teresa needs a cup of tea. I do believe she has the headache, poor child."

 "A little," acknowledged Teresa, "but I shall do very well if I lie down for half an hour."

 "Howell, tea in my sitting room and something to eat. Something light, for the dressmaker will be here shortly."

 Teresa groaned internally at the thought of spending the afternoon being measured and draped and pinned. However, after lying for a few minutes on the sofa in the duchess's sitting room, she consumed several cups of tea and a couple of Jacques's divine chicken vol-au-vents and found her usual energy restored.

* * * *

 Madame Roquier, who had no intention of going back to France while business in London was so good, arrived with an assistant bearing pattern books. They were followed by three of the duke's footmen laden with bolts of cloth. She took one look at Teresa and began picking out all the rolls of white and pastel fabrics.

 "Zese you may take back down to
mon équipage
," she said, to Teresa's astonishment. Those were just the colours that, according to Lady Parr, should be worn by an unmarried girl. The modiste turned to the duchess and explained, "Your Grace, I know nozzing of zis young lady I am to dress, so I bring everysing. White she cannot wear. It makes to look sallow zis golden skin. And zese ruffles—pah!  Miss must wear ze jewel tones, vibrant, alive.
Regardez-moi ça
.”  She seized a length of amethyst silk and draped it around Teresa's shoulders.

 There was a murmur of approval.

 "I cannot see!" wailed Teresa.

 "Put those down," the duchess directed the two footmen who still stood holding the rest of the fabrics, "and fetch the cheval glass from the dressing room."

 Teresa looked at her reflection and gasped. Her face was no longer "shockingly brown," but warm amber. The rich sheen of the silk made her complexion glow, and her dark eyes shone with excitement. She turned to her aunt and smiled.

 "Not passably pretty," said the duchess. "Not an Incomparable, perhaps, but do you know, my dear Teresa, I'd wager we shall do very well!"

Chapter 10

 Madame Roquier did not mean to risk losing such a lucrative and influential customer as the Duchess of Stafford. Early the very next afternoon her young assistant delivered two gowns. She carried them up to Miss Danville's dressing room so that she could make any necessary adjustments.

 
"Buenos días,
" said Gayo. The girl screeched and dropped the pile of boxes. "What a pity," he said sadly.

 From one of the boxes spilled a promenade dress of bronze gros de Naples, with a cashemire shawl patterned in bronze and cream and a huge muff of cream-coloured fur. Teresa admired it briefly, but she was captivated by the walking dress. It was sapphire blue, a figured silk patterned with tiny rosettes of darker blue. The neckline was trimmed with cream Brussels lace; otherwise the bodice was very plain. The skirt fell straight from the high waist, ornamented just above the hem by a wide band of the same lace, which also finished the long sleeves.

 Annie helped Teresa out of Muriel's old morning gown, for the last time, she hoped. Madame Roquier's assistant helped her into the new walking dress, then stood back and clasped her hands.

 "Well I never!" she marvelled.

"Oh, Miss Teresa, you look quite beautiful," cried Annie. "I see now that Miss Muriel's gowns were all wrong for you."  She darted forward and fiddled with Teresa's hair for a moment. "Now look at yourself in the mirrors."

 Teresa raised her eyes and stared. Why, she looked positively elegant!  The simple bodice, high waist, and long straight lines of the skirt flattered her figure. Annie had put up her hair on top, as usual, to add to her height, but now a few ringlets softened the effect.

 Surely if Andrew saw her now, he would find something better to say than that she looked "every inch a lady!"

 As the dressmaker unwrapped a dark blue pelerine the duchess bustled in, with Miss Carter in tow. Teresa turned before her, hope and anxiety warring in her breast.

 "You look very well, child. Now that you are decently clad, Amelia shall take you shopping."

 "That will be delightful, aunt. I do thank you, Miss Carter. Only there are one or two people I ought to call on first."

 "Nonsense. Before you pay any calls you must have gloves and stockings and slippers and boots, and reticules and handkerchiefs and, oh, a hundred other odds and ends. Not to mention hats and bonnets!"

 Teresa would gladly have forgone such fripperies. All she wanted was to see Andrew's expression when she appeared in her new finery. But doubtless he would agree that the finery was incomplete without gloves and a bonnet. She sighed. "Very well, aunt. I have not tried on the promenade dress yet. If it fits as well as this, I shall wear it, if Miss Carter will not mind waiting a few minutes?"

 Miss Carter, beaming, pronounced herself perfectly satisfied, so it was half an hour later that the two ladies, accompanied by Annie, set out for the milliner's in the duchess's barouche.

* * * *

 Every day for a week, boxes arrived from Madame Roquier's workshops, until both Teresa's wardrobes were full. Every day Miss Carter took her shopping, until not another embroidered handkerchief could be stuffed into the chest of drawers and Annie begged her not to buy any more hats.

 Every day, the duchess took her visiting. She met her uncle Frederick, a very large and finicky bachelor who was one of the Lords of the Admiralty. She met a variety of second and third cousins, and more distant connexions. Bearing Lady Parr's instructions in mind, she managed to behave with perfect propriety. Then the day came when her Grace declared her ready to meet some of those hostesses upon whose invitations her social success must depend.

 That evening, the duke and duchess were dining out. Lord John, for the first time all week, was not. He had not seen his cousin since the fashionmongers of London had transformed her. His eyes widened as she entered the drawing room wearing an evening gown of emerald satin.

 "Cousin Teresa?" he said, incredulous. He advanced across the room and lifted her hand to his lips. "My compliments, cousin. You are ravishing."

 She blushed a little, smiling. She had learned a great deal from Miss Carter and now, studying his dress, she recognised his style as Corinthian. His dark green coat and fawn pantaloons fitted superbly over his muscular form, but not so tightly that those muscles were unusable. His waistcoat was of green and gold brocade, his shirtpoints of moderate height, his cravat neat yet not so elaborate that it must have taken hours to tie. He looked like a gentleman fond of sport, and she was ready to wager he spent a good many afternoons at fisticuffs in Gentleman Jackson's Saloon or shooting at Manton's Gallery.

 She had to admit that he was handsomer than Andrew. On the other hand, his way of life was much less to be admired. Miss Carter had whispered that many Corinthians, after those unexceptionable afternoons, indulged in other sports less acceptable, such as Boxing the Watch and Consorting with Fallen Females.